


One Thousand and Ninety Five Minutes

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, The Last Jedi but Hux is taken seriously, and also has a lot of issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13164243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Last Jedi from Hux's perspective.





	1. Chapter 1

_232 minutes after_

 

His hands aren’t shaking. He unlocks the drawer in a brisk, smooth movement and pulls out the small bottle, brush, and powder compact. He sets them on a table in a neat line, opening the bottle and placing a dab of the creamy liquid on the back of his hands. Careful not to look himself in the eye, he wets the brush and starts dabbing concealer over the bruises. It hurts. The soft bristles have enough pressure to light up the already-sensitive nerves in his neck, and his application style isn’t the most delicate. Once the red and purple ring is fully covered, he sets down the brush and waits a full forty-five seconds for it to dry.

He picks up the powder compact, sets the foundation, and looks at his reflection. The bruising is still visible. He picks up the brush again and repeats the process until his skin looks flawlessly white again.

He allows himself a moment to be bitter that force-choking leaves extensive, long-lasting bruises. He allows himself to feel anger that he’s failed, once again. Allows the embarrassment of being made a fool of by some upstart rebel trigger-jockey. He looks his reflection in the eye, sees the loathing and shame, and shuts them down.

He places the makeup back in the drawer, locks it, and leaves the refresher. He pauses to pick up his greatcoat from his bed and settle it carefully over his shoulders. He walks over to his desk and picks up a slim piece of black paper. He slides it carefully inside his collar. It will prevent the powder from leeching into the black wool, which is a bitch to get out. He learned that lesson well the first time, when he spent half an hour in the laundry rooms, scrubbing until the wool was rough and the pale stains were gone.

Finally presentable, he returns to the bridge.

“Report.”

Mitaka snaps into a salute. “General. The rebels have maintained their current course. According to our estimates of their fuel reserves, they will be able to maintain this distance for approximately eighteen hours.”

Hux nods. “Keep me updated.”

Mitaka salutes again, and Hux sits down in the commander’s chair. The bridge is as quiet as it could be, the constant background noise of beeping and ship engines barely noticeable. He gazes across the stations, making eye contact with anyone foolish enough to glance up.

He needs to be here. He needs to be here and control the narrative. He needs to be here and make sure that no one will question his authority after the…incident. He needs to be here, and so he is. He lets his gaze drop back down to his holopad, drumming his fingers gently on the armrest as he scrolls through the reports with one hand.

The casualties from the destruction of the _Fulminatrix_ had been extensive. More than 215,000 troops had been aboard, and only 15,000 had had time to escape. None of the bridge crew had survived, and none of the weapons had been salvageable. Forcefully relaxing his gritted teeth, Hux began reassignments. All of the Stormtroopers need to go through a psych eval, and more than half of the officers who remain were injured some way. Once he ensures that all of the survivors are being properly cared for, he summons Mitaka.

“Sir.”

“Begin a scan of the surrounding area. The maximum distance they’ll be able to travel is approximately two parsecs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Hux says. “Once you’ve made a list of all significant bodies within that range, report back to me.”

“Sir.” Mitaka salutes and walks over to another officer, speaking quietly in her ear before he returns to his post.

Hux looks over the bridge. They’re relaxing more the longer he sits there, their fear of an outburst fading. He mentally rolls his eyes. He’s not Kylo Ren, for Sith’s sake. He can experience negative emotions and suppress them in an appropriate manner.

Minutes pass. He evaluates troop positions and supply levels, ensuring that their constant barrage of the rebel ship won’t negatively impact their future performance. Once he finishes the ammunition adjustments, he moves over to his messages. As he’s working, a discreet alert appears. He flicks the screen to private and opens the notification. Kylo Ren is moving.

Ren is headed from the training room to his chambers. Hux considers standing. Before he can force his muscles into movement, Mitaka walks over.

“Sir. I have the list of planets you requested.”

Hux relaxes back. “Send it to my holopad.”

“Already done.” Mitaka says.

“Good. Dismissed.” Hux says, already looking over at the screen.

Mitaka walks briskly away, and Hux looks over the list. There’s only one significant planet within range. He cross-references the name, and finds limited data. It’s a type one planet, practically uninhabited. There are multiple mines, but they all appear to have been abandoned. Though there has been no recorded Rebel activity there, he suspects there’s something hidden. Why else would the General have stopped in this system?

Another alert. Ren has reached his quarters.

Hux stands, waving off Mitaka as he exits. He strides to the closest turbolift, unconsciously shifting into parade rest when inside the chamber. He breathes slowly, too aware of the bruises. He lets his mind grow blank, mentally running through the technical specifications of a TIE/IN Starfighter.

The closer he gets to Ren, the more he can feel it. The pressure around his neck increases and he fights to remain calm as the turbolift slows to a stop.

Stepping out, he focuses on the click of his boots across the steel floor. The pressure remains the same, and there’s no other sound in the hallway. He stops in front of Ren’s door an knocks twice. He ignores the slight tremble in his hands as he lists the most common sources of TIE engine malfunction.

Ren opens the door. He’s maskless, shirtless, and his eyes are wild. “What?”

“Lord Ren. There have been developments in the—”

“I don’t care,” Ren says. “Why are you here?”

“To keep you informed regarding ongoing conflict situation. Sir.”

Ren frowns. “No, you’re not.”

Hux breathes. Firmly remembers the measurements of an SFS L-s9.3 laser cannon. “I assure you I am.”

“No, Snoke sent you to spy on me. Didn’t he.”

“The Supreme Leader has no need for spies. He can see who, whatever, wherever and whenever he wishes. As he has made clear.” Hux keeps his eyes locked on Ren’s hairline as he crosses his arms and scowls.

“If you wanted to keep me updated you’d send some expendable officer. And you don’t care if I’m updated, you don’t want me to have anything to do with you precious combat missions.” Ren is glaring now. The pressure on Hux’s neck increases. He knows that Ren is looking into his mind.

“You are quite right,” Hux says, hand clenched behind his back. “If you ever decide to take an interest in the final destruction of our enemies, I’ll inform you. Lord Ren.”

He spins on his heel and walks back to the turbolift, mentally reciting the software requirements of an AE-35 subspace transceiver.

“ _Stop_.” Ren hisses, and the pressure on Hux’s neck turns to fire. He stops, unable to move, unable to breathe.

“Good,” Ren says. “Now come back here and tell me why you really came.”

Hux is dragged back, panic and anger whiting out his mind. “You couldn’t kill your mother,” he spits. “I saw your fighter, I saw the others, I saw the logs. SP-3198 killed her, and all of her worthless cronies.”

Ren’s eyes flash as he leans forward. “She’s not dead, fool. Your worthless pilot didn’t kill her, and you will not speak to me this way.”

The pressure on Hux’s neck increases until almost blacks out, then releases. He doesn’t collapse. Barely.

“They’re headed to Crait.” He says, voice weak. He coughs, deep, rasping spasms that force his back to bend. He straightens slowly, wiping the blood from the side of his mouth. “The rebels. I came to make sure you would not fail again.”

Ren seems to accept this reason and dismisses Hux's intel with a sneer. “There’s nothing on Crait. The rebels will die in fire as their ship collapses around them.”

With that he steps back into his rooms, the door sliding closed. Hux catches a glimpse of a new scar on Ren’s back before the door shuts and he turns again, his steps careful and precise.

He arrives at his office, takes off his greatcoat, and sits at his desk. He pours out a cup of Tarine Tea, opens his personal log, and begins dictating.

“Personal Log. 32 ABY, month 11, day 13. It has been five hours and twenty-three minutes since the Rebel Base of D’Qar was destroyed, and the dreadnought _Fulminatrix_ was eliminated. I have been,” he pauses “awake for approximately 16 hours.”  


	2. Chapter 2

_Before_

 

_He finds it when he’s browsing through old Imperial files. It’s a treasure trove of information, stacks upon stacks of digital project reports detailing the research and schematics for hundreds of technological advancements and inventions. Some of the blueprints are dud, of course. There are inventions so unrealistic that they’re ridiculous, with names chock full of pompous acronyms. However, there are some gems. Schematics for cutting-edge improvement in ship-base artillery, various inventive variations on the Death Star’s ion beam propulsion engines, and rudimentary cloaking systems. The file that stands out the most is buried deep in the archive, surrounded by a string of lesser projects. When he sees the title his breath catches, imagination blazing with the possibilities. It’s a tracking system, but unlike any he’s ever seen before._

_He sends it immediately to L’ingmata, the head of the First Order’s R &D program. Five minutes later he receives a call from a classified frequency. _

_“Where did you get these files?” L’indamata says immediately. The lab behind her is chaotic, the new schematics already displayed across three projection screens. “Do you understand the implications of this discovery? The possible uses?”_

_“Of course I do,” Hux says. He shrugs one shoulder a fraction of an inch. “It will allow us to track the Republic insurgents through hyperspace. Another other uses are irrelevant at this time.”_

_“Well, yes, but...” she blinked rapidly, refocusing on Hux. “But there are so many other possible uses! The processer adaptations alone, if it works, of course, could bring about unprecedented—”_

_“Eliminating the Republic is our first priority,” Hux says. “Once they have been seen to, you may play around with these files however you wish.”_

_“Yes. General.”_

_“If you complete a prototype within a month, I will gladly send you more of the files.”_

_L’ingmata’s eyes light up. “That would be most excellent. We’ll do what we can, sir.”_

_Hux lets his stern expression relax, just for a moment. “Thank you, doctor. Dismissed.”_

_The call ends, and he returns his attention to the archive. It is 0331 standard time, and the_ Finalizer _is quiet._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha this is a lot longer than I thought it would be. Thank you for all of the comments and kudos, I appreciate every single one of you <3

_478 minutes after_

It takes another two cups of tea for Hux to finish his log and the last of the Fulminatrix casualty reports. He signs the final paperwork and sends it, in triplicate, to the relevant departments. With that action, his role in the tragedy is officially over. His responsibilities are complete.

Standing slowly, Hux looks out the windows of his office. He can see the flash of their cannons deflecting off of the rebel ship’s shields, see the support ships struggling behind it, see the bright lights of the First Order fleet. He stretches, slowly, working the kinks out of his shoulders and pushing the exhaustion at bay. It’s strange to think that a week ago he was safely on Starkiller base, worried about little more than the upcoming demonstration.

He turns away from the window and picks up his greatcoat, shrugging it back over his shoulders. He adjusts the fit, careful not to dislodge the liner in his collar. He picks up his datapad and collapses it, shoving it into his pocket as he leaves the office. The door locks behind him as he walks in the direction of the bridge. He’s approaching the turbolift bank when he sees a large group of Stormtroopers approaching.

He makes the snap decision to head down to the hangar bay for a spot inspection, takes a quick left turn towards the exterior of the ship, then catches a different turbolift down to the hangar levels.

He enters, anonymous, hidden behind a transport droid. As he surveys the bustle of the cavernous room, he notices Phasma conducting a series of drills in the corner. He strides towards her, passing repair droids and maintenance workers, sparks flying as they repair the damage done in the previous battles.

Phasma looks up when he’s twenty feet away, sees him, and calls her squadron to attention.

“General Hux,” she says, saluting. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Captain Phasma. There is a matter we need to discuss, and I prefer to be away from the watchful eyes on the bridge.”

“Of course, Sir.” She calls for her company to relax, and turns to face the bay doors.

Hux begins walking back towards the chaos, and says “We need to consider alternate plans for eliminating the rebels.”

“Sir.” She pauses. “I don’t doubt your strategic wisdom, but isn’t it inevitable that the rebels will run out of fuel and fall to our cannons?”

“That is the most likely scenario,” Hux says. “But I have found evidence of a planet within the ship’s maximum range.”

“Is it inhabited?” There’s an edge of steel in her voice that is audible through her helmet’s modulator.

“No. As far as we know, it’s Type-one but completely desolate. The only structures are abandoned mines.”

“Hmmm. Has there been any rebel activity there?”

“Nothing on record. But as we well know, the Empire was not the most scrupulous of record-keepers.”

Phasma nods. “I suppose we should assume the worst, that there’s some type of rebel base there.”

“Yes. Why else would they jump to such an isolated system?” Hux glances out over the sea of fighters. “I will not underestimate this scum again. We will attack with full force, crushing their puny ‘hope’ with the fist of the First Order’s justice.”

“Very good, sir,” Phasma says. “What do you need to do?”

“Begin activating our arsenal. We should prepare for a siege as well. We’ll need heavy artillery, AT-ATs, and a legion of TIE Starfighters.”

“How many troops?”

“Perhaps…two companies.” Hux decides. “That should be more than enough to crush the few men they have left.”

“I’ll alert the troops.”

Hux stops and turns to face Phasma. “I am sure you will complete this mission with your usual level of discretion.”

Phasma nods. “Of course, sir.”

Hux’s datapad dings with an alarm, and he reaches down without breaking eye contact. “Report back to me when all of the elements are prepared.”

Phasma snaps out a salute and heads back to her troops. Hux checks the alert before leaving the hangar. Apparently, there’s a developing disturbance in another system, and First Order assets are involved. The report is light on details. He frowns, closing his datapad and heading back towards the bridge. He’ll find more information there.

The closer he is to the bridge, the more a quiet sense of panic wells in his gut. He stands in the turbolift, alone, and his thoughts drift to Kylo Ren. Even thinking the name makes the panic increase, makes the pressure on his neck reappear. He wonders why. Why he went down to see Ren at all, why he wanted to give him information. Why he confronted Ren about the battle. Why Ren let him leave. Why, even now, he has to dig his nails into the meat of his palm to stop himself from pulling out his datapad and checking Ren’s location.

The turbolift stops, and his thought spiral is stopped. He exits the lift, walking as assertively as he can into the bridge. Nothing has changed since he last left: the rebel ship is still visible through the large windows, the mood in the room is a low level of tension, and any movement or speech that does occur is purposeful and muted.

“Who located the disturbance?” He asks as Mitaka approaches.

Mitaka salutes. “It was Ensign Datsyuk, Sir. He’s been monitoring the police channels in Canto Bight.”

“Bring him to the ready room,” Hux orders.

“Yes, sir.”

Hux crosses the bridge and takes a sharp left. He climbs the gentle staircase to the ready room, a holoscreen filled conference room primarily used for briefings. He pulls his datapad out of his pocket and plugs it into one of the smaller screens perched on a desk. Moments later the ensign walks in, clutching his own datapad.

“Pull up the police feed and any relevant newsfeeds from Canto Bight,” Hux says, glancing in the ensign’s direction. He’s dressed in a standard uniform, well cared for, and is overall unexceptional save for his stature, which is impressively short.

“Yes, general.” The ensign salutes and plugs his datapad into the primary control unit. The police feed appears first, and Hux quickly scans it. He sees mentions of a violent droid and a prison break. He searches his memory for any specific assets they have on Cato Bight, and can’t recall any. Perhaps another officer has a gambling problem?

“Are there any images? Video?” Hux asks.

“None of the prisoners or droid, sir.”

Hux leans back in his seat. “Summarize the relevant events.”

“Sir.” The ensign takes a deep breath. “At around 0650 standard time, I started receiving reports of a disturbance on Canto Bight. At first, it seemed to be a minor power outage, but then the police discovered that the jail cells had been shut down and multiple prisoners escaped.

“In addition to the power outage, multiple guards were found unconscious, and when they woke up they reported being attacked by a large orange droid with metallic fists.”

“Orange?” Hux asks. 

“Orange and white, sir.”

Hux scowls. He’s very aware of one orange and white droid who causes too much trouble for his own good. But why would the rebels be on Canto Bight? And would they bring that blasted droid with them? It makes no sense.

“I doubt the droid is as large in reality as it was portrayed in their stories. Continue.”

“Yessir. The police rounded up all of the prisoners who escaped except for three. Two of them had just been arrested for a parking violation, and one was arrested last week for hacking into one of the slot machines.”

“Their names?”

“The two new prisoners were unknown, but the slicer is Davarius Jokinen.”

“The name sounds familiar,” Hux says.

“According to his record, he was arrested by First Order troops for breaking into a sanitation system two years ago.”

“He could be an issue.” Hux makes a note to check his file. And to look into the Canto Bight records.

“Sir, there’s—” The ensign is interrupted by multiple blaring alarms. He shuts them off quickly, looking panicked, and says “The prisoners have been located! They broke into the Fathier’s stables and unleashed the herd. They’re currently running through the casino.”

“Pull up a video,” Hux orders.

"Yessir.” The ensign leans over his datapad, and soon a Fathier is leaping across a roulette table in high definition. Hux leans closer, staring at the video. The camera is limited, so he can only see a few of the Fathier at a time, but he quickly spots the one in the lead. There are two figures on its back.

“Zoom in on the lead Fathier.”

The ensign obliges, and Hux can see that the figures are a dark-skinned man and a woman with short black hair. He doesn’t recognize either of them, but Phasma might. If this pair is who he thinks they are.

“Wait until you can see their faces clearly, and take a screen capture,” Hux says. “Send the picture to my datapad, and to Captain Phasma.”

“Yessir.” The ensign captures a good shot just as the Fathier is leaping out of the casino and into the street. Hux’s datapad chimes quietly a moment later.

“What are the police doing?” Hux asks.

“They’ve scrambled multiple patrol ships, and have men on foot and on speeders to corral the herd. There are also trainers with tranquilizer darts on the ships.”

“Well. That’s about what we can expect from a casino planet’s security.”

As the Fathier careen through the city, Hux pulls up the slicer’s files. Aliases DJ, 17, Don’t Join, and Red Rose. He’s been arrested for small things, petty identity theft and minor break-ins. He doesn’t look like a threat. The First Order’s involvement in Canto Bight, however, may be dangerous. He pulls up the file and his eyebrows immediately jump up. Apparently, they have been taking quiet control of the police force in the city for six months. His sense of alarm grows when he sees that the officer the orders came from is classified. Nothing on this ship is classified to him. He flags the file for further inspection and sets down his datapad, looking up at the screens. He can’t see anything substantial in the video.

“The Fathier have left the city and have made it to the hills,” the ensign says. “Police speeders split up, but fell behind, and now they’re regrouped and focusing on the prisoners.”

“They can’t evade capture forever. Compose a message to the head of the city police and tell him that the prisoners are of vital importance to us, and need to be transported to the Supremacy immediately.”

“Yes,” the ensign pauses and frowns. “Sir. This doesn’t look right.”

A police ship is approaching the western cliff, with the two prisoners caught in its spotlight. He looks over at the police feed, and they’re not celebrating. None of them seem to know who the pilot is, or if the ship was even used for the mission.

Then the prisoners climb willingly onto the ship, and Hux knows it’s over. “The slicer stole a ship, didn’t he?”

“Apparently so. They’re not sure yet, but it looks like the droid and the slicer took over one of the unused police cruisers.”

“This is far from the ideal ending.” The rogue ship jumps to hyperspace as Hux stands and unplugs his datapad. “Keep monitoring the situation,” he orders. “Mitaka will give you additional resources if you need them.”

The ensign jumps to his feet and salutes. “Thank you, sir!”

“Keep me updated.” Hux walks out of the room, greatcoat flaring behind him as the door opens and closes. He sees Phasma down the hall, striding towards the bridge.

“Captain.” He steps into an alcove, away from any prying ears.

She salutes brusquely, stopping in front of him. “General.”

“Did you identify either of the prisoners?”

“Yes, and he’s extremely dangerous. The man is FN-2187, the rogue who caused so much trouble on Starkiller base. Alert the police immediately that when he’s captured he needs to be brought to us.”

Hux shakes his head. “Unfortunately, it’s too late. He escaped.”

“Sir.” Her back straightens. “With your permission, I’ll lead a squadron onto the planet to find and capture FN-2187.”

“As much as I would support a mission of that caliber,” he says “unfortunately their escape was on a ship traveling at light speed.”

Phasma seethes. “He’ll return to the resistance. And when he does, we’ll catch him and destroy him.”

“Perhaps,” he pauses. “But desertion may be an issue. Why else would he have left? And why would he flee with nothing but a half-bit slicer?”

“A slicer?” Phasma asks.

“A scoundrel codebreaker. No value, but,” his gaze fell out of focus as he thought. The only way for the rebel ship would be able to truly escape would be if they dismantled the tracker. And the only way to breach the Supremacy’s security system and disable the tracker without being immediately detected is to slice through.

“Sir?”

Hux focuses sharply back in on Phasma. “Increase the patrols around the Hyperspace tracker immediately. The rebels are going to attempt to use the slicer to infiltrate our systems and disable our tracking system.”

“How on earth would they do that? Do they even know about the tracker?” Phasma sounds disgruntled.

“This codebreaker they picked up was able to steal a Canto Blight police cruiser from under their noses. We have no idea what the extent of his abilities are, and I will not underestimate the rebel scum again.”

She salutes, if grimly. “Yes, sir. I’ll increase patrols immediately.”

“When we find him,” he lets a small smile grow on his face, “you may have his head.”

Phasma salutes. “Thank you, sir.”

Hux exits the alcove, heading towards the bridge. He looks around as he enters. Mitaka is rushing between stations whispering orders, a stiff new uniform is sitting in the shirt ensign’s station, and the rebel ship is still just out of range. He pauses in the center of the bridge and clasps his hands behind his back. Gazing out the windows he notices, absently, that there’s a tremor in his right hand. If he’s going to continue functioning at an adequate level he’s going to need more tea.

He turns on his heel and exits the bridge, plan already forming. He’ll return to his quarters, feed his cat, brew some tea, and change out of his days-old uniform. Sleep, of course, is off the table until the rebels are destroyed, but he can do more research into the activity on Canto Bight.

He reaches his quarters in three minutes and emerges from the refresher five minutes later in fresh pants and an undershirt, drying his hair. Millicent meows, and a moment later there’s a loud banging at the door.

He walks cautiously toward the door, picking up his sidearm on the way. “Who is it?”

The banging continues.

Gritting his teeth, Hux flips off the safety and opens his door a crack. He sees black robes and a battered leather boot and sighs.

“What do you want, Ren?”

“Open the door.”

“No.” Hux tosses the weapon onto his bed. “If you have a pressing concern, feel free to message Mitaka. He’ll schedule an appointment.”

Ren doesn’t respond. The door, screeching, opens. Hux steps back and crosses his arms, scowling.

Ren’s not wearing his mask, so Hux can see exactly when Ren’s eyes dart down to his neck and catch on the bruises. He flinches, hand flying up to futilely cover the dark red and purple blotches. He forces himself to look back at Ren’s face and sees that instead of vindictive or amused, he just looks confused.

“I can see why you wear the bucket,” Hux remarks. “Your emotions are splayed across your face like a cheap Coruscant streetwalker.”

“Why did you access the Canto Bight files?” Ren asks, voice flat.

“Because there was a disturbance.” Hux looks Ren over and notices the mulish set to his mouth. This isn’t going to be a short conversation. He turns and crosses to his kitchen, hanging the towel on the back of the ‘fresher door on the way. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I’d like an answer,” Ren snaps. “Wait. Where are you…Why are you offering me a drink?”

“Because I have a sense of common decency. Come inside, the entire ship doesn’t need to hear this conversation.” Ren steps awkwardly inside, and the door shuts behind him with a puff of air. “Tea?” Hux offers again, pouring himself a cup,

“I don’t drink it.” Ren looms just inside the doorway, apparently unsure what to do with his hands.

Hux sits in the chair facing the door and takes a sip of tea. “Why are you here?”

“To find out why you accessed that file,” Ren snaps.

“I told you. There was a disturbance. Why do you care about that file?”

“None of your concern. And I would have known about any disturbance, nothing happened to warrant your attention.”

“Nothing?” Hux raises an eyebrow. “Two rebels, including our least favorite defector, broke a code-slicer out of jail and rode a herd of Fathier through the Casino and city. I’d say that warrants my attention.”

“Why would rebels be interested in Canto Bight?” Ren sits, glaring.

Hux is struck by the odd parallels between this meeting and their last. It’s almost ironic, how their positions are reversed. “Why are you?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re the officer who ordered the infiltration, aren’t you?” Hux leans forward. “Why are you interested in Canto Bight? There’s nothing there but bad choices and weapons dealers.”

Ren glares. Hux gazes calmly back, taking another sip of his tea.

“How often do you use makeup to cover your bruises?” Ren smirks like he’s caught Hux with his pants down.

He raises his chin, not looking away. “Whenever it’s necessary to maintain order in the ranks.”

“Your bruises don’t have any effect on the Stormtroopers’ morale. Nothing does, they’re brainwashed.”

“That’s the kind of thinking that leads to mutinies and collapse. Even Stormtroopers need a strong leader, and a strong leader can’t have bruises.”

“I think you’d be stronger if you showed them off. They make you,” Ren pauses, then finishes in a soft voice “more human.”

Hux doesn’t know what to do with that. At all. Millicent, thankfully, provides a distraction by jumping into his lap.

“You have a cat?” Ren asks.

“Obviously. Her name is Millicent.” Hux scratches behind her ears and she purrs. “I’ll let you pet her if you tell me why you’re taking over the Canto Bight police.

“No,” Ren says. “I don’t have time for this. Tell me why the rebels were on Cato Bight.”

Hux feels the pressure on his neck start to increase and he shoves his attention down to Millicent’s fur, counting the hairs between his fingers as he fights the voice in his mind that whispers how good it would feel to tell Ren the truth, how glad he would be.

“Tell me,” Ren repeats, and Hux digs the fingers of his free hand into his thigh, his vision going grey as his bruises scream in pain, fighting with every cell in his body until—bliss. Nothingness. He sags back in his chair and looks Ren in the eye.

“You’re actually good at that,” Ren admits. “Resisting the Force.”

“I don’t.” Ren looks almost impressed, and somehow, that’s what breaks him. “The rebels went to Canto Bight to get a codebreaker. They’re going to try to enter the ship and disable the Hyperspace tracker.”

Ren blinks. “Oh.”

“They won’t be able to. Of course.”

Millicent jumps down from his lap and crosses to Ren’s, meowing. He picks her up and pets her gently.

“You’re going to get fur all over your robes,” Hux says.

“I’ll get it out.” Kylo takes a breath. “There’s a force sensitive child on Canto Bight. I don’t know exactly where, but I need to find them before anything happens. I need to train them. I need to make sure they’re safe.”

Millicent jumps off of Kylo’s lap and wanders into the bedroom, chittering quietly. Hux looks over his shoulder, above his head, anywhere but his eyes. Ren stands and walks to the door, where he stops.

“Remember what I said about the makeup.”

Then he’s gone. Hux sits back in his chair and finishes his tea in two gulps. He’s not quite sure what just happened. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. It has been, he concludes, much too long since he’s had a good night’s sleep.

Hux stands and walks into the refresher, ready to ignore Ren’s advice and hide his weaknesses. Ready to fight on until the rebel’s ship collapses and he can finally breathe again


	4. Chapter 4

_After_

_It_ _’s over. Hux is alone in his quarters, Millicent at his feet. He picks her up, trying to feel something. Tethered. Here. His mind is_ _—somewhere else. Somewhere blank and white where nothing hurts._

_He can feel dull coals burning through the entire left side of his body, through his head and neck and spine._

_He knows he should stand. He knows he_ _’s been sitting here too long. So he does. Millicent drops from his lap with a mewl of protest and he murmurs an apology, walking carefully into the fresher._

_He braces himself against the sink. He reaches one hand out, his left one. He thinks. It_ _’s trembling. He cups it and gathers water from the automatic faucet, splashing it onto his face. Mostly. Some lands on his coat and hair and neck and he can taste salt, still._

_He looks up, looks into the mirror. He seems streams of blood running down his face, staining him crimson and he screams, wordless, and attacks_ _—nothing._

_Voices._

_“…found him. In his rooms, he was_ _…broken mirror, a mess. And he_ _…probably a concussion_ _…severely dehydrated_ _, and he likely hadn_ _’_ _t eaten in_ _…_ _for 35 hours, we estimate._ _”_

_Silence._

_Colors. Black and steel and blue._

_One voice._

_“Please._ _”_

_Silence._

_Silence._

_Silence._


	5. Chapter 5

_903 Minutes After_

 

Hux is standing on the bridge when the final support ship goes down. He can see a few faint specks of white traveling towards the larger rebel ship, which he assumes are transports. The ship uses up its final drop of fuels and spins out of the protective shields. It is broken to pieces as their cannons flare, and Hux feels the concussive wave in his gut as a burst of fire flares in the window.

“How much fuel do they have left?” Hux asks as he blinks the bright spots out of his vision.

“Enough for approximately three hours at this speed, sir,” an officer replies.

“Excellent.” Hux turns sharply and exits the bridge. “It’s only a matter of time, now.”  

 

There’s a droid in his office. He frowns at it. “What are you doing here?”

It holds out a covered plate and beeps happily.

“Ah. Of course, set it down there,” he says, pointing to a corner of the desk.

The droid puts down the plate and beeps happily again, spinning its wheels and leaving the room.

“Thank you,” he says.

It must be 1900, and this must be his dinner. He lifts the cover and a plume of scented steam hits him in the face, almost making him gag. The food looks as appealing as ever, a carefully cooked array of vegetables and plant-based proteins. One of the oblong orange vegetables is covered in a shiny glaze. He unwraps the silverware and takes three bites of it, still standing. The glaze is sugary and coats his tongue. It should be pleasant, and he can tell that any other day he’d enjoy the meal, but not today. He re-covers the plate and sets it outside. He starts water boiling for tea and heads to the fresher.

While splashing water onto his face, he tries to remember the last time he ate. He must have had dinner last night, mustn’t he? He vaguely remembers a plate before they started bombing the Resistance base.

Well. Whenever it was, it wasn’t important. He walks back to his desk and plugs his datapad into the display. He starts reading through his messages. Apparently, the incident on Canto Bight has already had some unforeseen consequences. One of their major arms dealers was scheduled for a contract re-negotiation meeting, but was injured when the Fathier trundled through the casino. Hux reschedules their meeting, which means he needs to reschedule four other meetings, and then adjust a number of missions and weapons tests that had been dependent on the new contract.

He leans back and stretches when the final meeting has been rescheduled, three months from now. He walks over to pour himself a cup of tea, which has thankfully been kept warm by an insulated carafe.

He checks the time again. It’s late enough to complete his daily log, so he does. He has some minor trouble distinguishing the events of today from the events of yesterday, but he’s fairly sure he isn’t redundant.

He finishes his log and waits. Everything hinges on time, now. All he can do is wait.

And complete paperwork.

He’s on his third cup of tea when Phasma bursts into his office, a BB-9E droid trailing behind her trilling.

“BB-9E has located intruders!” She announces. “They’re headed to the hyperspace tracker room.”

“Good.” Hux stands. “Have your squad wait in the room. Arrest them, and escort the rebels to Hangar bay 3. Send the slicer to me.”

Phasma salutes. “Yes, sir.”

“Hurry,” he orders, and sits back down.

He returns to his paperwork, the blue text bleeding into the black as his eyes drift in and out of focus. He pulls up the records of their previous deals with informants, and establishes a preliminary budget. The man will probably want a shop, and safe passage back to civilization. Hux, feeling generous, decides that it he does give them valuable information he won’t shoot him out of the sky.

He considers dimming the lights and facing his chair away from the door. But, well. That might be a bit too much. There’s a pounding on his door.

“Enter,” he says, spinning to face the door.

It opens and Phasma throws the slicer into the room. He lands on his knees and she strides in after him flanked by two troopers.

“Did the succeed in interrupting the matrix?” Hux asks, looking down at the slicer.

“Nah. They d-d-didn’t make it in,” the slicer syas.

Hux looks at Phasma, and she shakes her head. “No, sir. We caught them in the chamber.”

“Unsurprising.” He looks down at the slicer. “You’re not exactly the master codebreaker, are you?”

The slicer shrugs one shoulder in a jerky twitch. “Maybe not. But I slid right th-th-through your system.”

“Of course you did,” Hux says, condescending. “And you did a very good job, Davarius.”

“I’t-t-t’s DJ.” He drums his fingers against the magna-cuffs. “But you can call me what-t-tever ya want if it means I get outta this safe.”

“It depends on what you have to offer.” Hux sits back, steepling his fingers.

“What d-d-d-do ya want to know?”

Hux grins. “Everything.”

 

He strides into Hangar bay three on air, a company of Stormtroopers marching behind him. The vibrations of hundreds of feet stomping echoes through his bones. They fall into formation and Phasma follows with the prisoners. They’re forced onto their knees and Hux steps forward, looking them over.

It’s a pity that FN-2187 defected, because the officer’s uniform suits him. A quiet sense of rage grows within him as he looks at this fool who almost ruined his victory and he lashes out, slapping him. He wants to scream, rub his face in his own failure, but he holds back.

They’re defiant until they see the slicer.

“Did you confirm his information?” Hux asks an officer.

“Yes sir. We ran a de-cloaking scan and found the transports.”

“Well that’s wonderful. The thief actually told the truth for once.” He lets a small smile grow on his face. “Fire at will.”

The light dies in their eyes.

He leaves. He doesn’t care to see their deaths, Phasma is the one who’ll find the most joy in that.

He walks back up to the bridge to watch the rest of the destruction. He revels in the moment, the starlight and fire. Half the transports are gone when buzzing fills his ears. An intense pain flares in his throat and for a moment his vision is black.

He hears someone over the buzzing. “Sir, they appear to be changing course.”

“They’re just trying to distract us. Keep firing on the transports.” Hux stares out at the rebel ship, blinking. It’s turning, the shields are shifting, and…

“They’re going to jump to hyperspace!” An ensign says, confused.

Then he knows, and he knows he’s too late. “Fire on that ship!” 

There’s a flash of blue, and the bridge shudders. Alarms start blaring, red and loud and everywhere and he can’t look, can’t think, can’t hear anything over the sound of his own panic.

“We’ve lost sectors 83-317!”

“All airlocks are closing!”

“Hangar three is damaged and we’ve lost contact with the company there!”

Hux shakes his head violently and looks around the bridge. “Send out a mass lockdown. I need all companies to report losses, and containment crews on all areas that have been damaged.” No one moves. “ _Now_!”

They snap into action, ensigns sending out comms and lieutenants scrambling response teams. He looks over the bridge for a moment then heads out into the hallway, striding down towards Snoke’s chamber.

In the turbolift down, his datapad beeps. Snoke’s personal shuttle has been broken into and launched. Which should not be possible without the access codes only Snoke knows.

He takes a deep breath at the door. It’s closed, and the hallway is silent. His override code doesn’t work, so he shoots the control panel and gives the door a solid kick. It creaks open, grumbling, and he enters hell.

The red walls are burnt to ashes. There are small fire on the floor, in between the bodies of the imperial guards. Snoke is split in half. He draws near the body and the legs fall down with a gruesome squish. He sees Ren, laying on the ground, and slowly moves his hand toward his pistol.

If Snoke is gone, and Ren is gone, then he can be free. Truly free, for the first time in his life. And then, with his hand on his blaster, he remembers Ren cradling Millicent on his lap, strange and awkward and too large in his quarters. And Ren wakes up.

“What happened?” Hux snaps.

“The girl killed Snoke. Where is she?”

Hux grimaces. “She took the Supreme leader’s personal shuttle.”

Ren is not pleased. “Gather the troops. We’re heading down to the planet to finish this.”

“You dare?” He can’t think. He’s not thinking, clearly. “To command my troops? Our supreme leader is dead, and— _achh_ ”

“The supreme leader is dead.”

“Long—live the supreme leader.”

Ren leaves and he falls on the floor. Again. It’s fine.

He gets to his feet slowly, hands shaking. He straightens his greatcoat and walks out of the silent, burning room.

 

They re-gather their forces and launch from hangar bay two, seeing as three is completely decimated. Hux can’t find Phasma. He tries to comm her on the shuttle down, but she doesn’t respond.

Ren is sitting across from him, staring at the wall. Hux leans back, and for a moment lets his head rest against the cold metal. “Did the scavenger really kill Snoke?”

Ren glares.

“And all of the guards? And disable you?”

“She’s powerful,” Ren grunts.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure Luke Skywalker taught her everything in the twenty hours they were together.”

“She had…she was prepared. She brought his lightsaber.” Ren looks at Hux now, scowling.

“That’s ridiculous and I don’t believe you.” Hux closes his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous!”

Hux waits. “If you killed him,” he says carefully. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would never betray my master,” Ren says.

“You don’t have to pretend. He’d dead.”

The shuttle lands and Hux sits up, opening his eyes. He sees Ren, who looks confused for a moment.

“Let’s go.” Hux stands and sweeps out of the shuttle.

They climb into one of the AT-36 cockpits. The battle feels like a quiet wave of static, sweeping over and drowning him. The plumes of red drifting up from the battle distract him from the action. His eyes catch on the diamond dust as it floats in between the speeders. Ren’s anger grows until it suffocates this ship. Until he sends all of the fighters away, until he points all of their guns at the Skywalker who won’t die.

“Do you think you got him?” Hux asks?

“Prepare my shuttle. I’m going down there. Alone,” Ren snarls.

This is just so immensely _stupid._ “Supreme leader, are you sure this is an appropriate course of action? Don’t get distracted.”

And then he’s slammed against the wall. He blacks out for a moment. He stands on his own. No one dares approach.

Ren is out in the dust, staring down the Jedi. They move, light flashing between them. Hux watches carefully. It looks wrong, somehow. The static is everywhere and he knows, somehow, that the other shoe is going to drop. He itches to march forward, to take the bunker now, to waltz over Ren’s pride and finally achieve his victory.

But he doesn’t. The jedi vanishes and Ren storms back into the cockpit, his anger physically clogging up the air. They enter the bunker, finally, and it’s empty. Ren stalks through the base, tearing open every cabinet and box and closet. As if they’ve hidden a few dozen beings in metal lunchboxes and empty droid shells.

They return to the _Supremacy_ on a silent shuttle. Hux is fully expecting to be assaulted again.

“I failed.” Ren says.

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“But it doesn’t matter. It happens. We’ll crush them when we find them.” Hux starts taking off one of his gloves. “And we will find them.”

“Luke is dead,” Ren says. “I felt it in the force.”

“Who?”

Kylo blinks. “He was the Jedi.”

“Oh.”

“He was important.”

“To you?”

“To everyone. To the force.”

Hux pulls of the other glove. “It’s good he’s dead, then.”

The shuttle docks. Hux stands and takes two steps out of the shuttle before he’s falling. His fingers open and his gloves fall to the ground. He can hear someone, people, yelling something. And then the static overwhelms him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there guys!!! Final chapter should be up sometime next week, depending on Life.

_Before_

_Starkiller is dying._

_The planet quakes beneath him. The metal of the catwalk groans and he clings to the side of the wall. The troopers behind him form a single file line as a massive chunk of the hangar falls into the abyss, narrowly missing their bridge. They reach the other side and break out into a run. Hux checks and re-checks his datapad. The red light is blinking erratically, flickering around a section of the map that’s almost three square miles._

_They escape the hangar and their feet crunch on the snowy surface of the planet._

_“Split up!” Hux orders. “He’s in the vicinity, and he might be injured. If you trip over him and harm him, you’ll answer to the Supreme Leader himself.”_

_The troopers branch out, headed mostly into the forest. Hux walks toward the center of the blinking light’s range. He looks around as he walks. There are occasional broken branches and faded footprints, but nothing conclusive._

_The planet shakes again. He almost loses his balance and grips the datapad tighter. He’s started shivering._

_The blinking light is solidifying. It’s staying in a smaller and smaller area, and Hux breaks into a run. He starts to smell something, a combination of lightning and burnt flesh. The scent grows as he draws closer to the dot, until it stops blinking and he sees him. Unconscious, limbs splayed out and covered in tiny snowflakes._

_Hux rushes over and kneels down, checking his pulse. Alive. Good, he supposes._

_He’s not going to try to pick Ren up. He’s too massive, too much dead weight. Instead he summons the troopers and a stretcher._

_They heft Ren onto the white, floating board and push him back towards the base._

_“Go. Prepare my shuttle for takeoff and activate the med-droids.” Three of the troopers rush ahead of Hux, barking his orders into their commlinks._

_The walk to the shuttle takes longer than he likes. The quakes are stronger and more frequent. There’s a low boom and a roar, and Hux glances back as a massive crack in the earth forms behind them. He walks faster, shoving the backboard forward. They reach the shuttle and Hux slams into the cockpit._

_“Take off. Now!”_

_“Yessir,” the pilot says._

_They leave the surface of the planet just as another massive crack forms, closer this time. Hux waits until they reach hyperspace and steps back out into the holding bay. Ren is still unconscious on the stretcher._

_Hux takes off his greatcoat, rolls up his sleeves, and starts cleaning the blood off of Ren’s face and torso._

_“Stupid idiot,” he hisses. “Beaten by a worthless slip of a girl who’s been nothing but trouble, but you had to take your useless self out to fight her and put my career on the line, or course you did…” he keeps up a steady stream of spite as he accepts gloves and bacta-tape from the droids. He snaps the gloves on and starts applying the tape. Some of the wound has already been cauterized. The girl must have somehow stolen Ren’s lightsaber and used it on him. Fool._

_He finishes the application and the droids take over, applying a bacta cream and a mild pain reliever._

_Hux sits back. He idly picks the blood under his fingernails. A droid beeps, offering a sterilization scrub. “No. Thank you.”_

_The droid beeps again and wheels out._

_Hux waits. He doesn’t let himself think. If he does, he’ll get maudlin over his legacy, his future, his career, his life. He doesn’t have enough capacity for useful thought right now._

_Ren stirs, eventually. He grunts and tries to sit up._

_“Don’t. Lay down.”_

_Ren sits up anyway. “What happened?”_

_“I found you in the forest and brought you here. Starkiller is dead.” Hux stands._

_“And the scavenger?”_

_“Gone. I’d assume.” Hux shrugs._

_“Wait,” Kylo says._

_But Hux has already turned his back. He’s standing in the door to the cockpit. “You’re fine now, Ren.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://kyluxtrash.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> This is currently a WIP (I know, scary). It should be around 6 chapters, and detail everything in TLJ and a bit after. Ratings and tags will change as the story does.


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